


if I can never love

by AgentStannerShipper



Series: Star Trek Bingo 2020 [22]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Communication, Coping Mechanisms, F/M, Healing, M/M, Past Sexual Assault, abuse of datas programming, and lack thereof, but he realizes it was more tramatic than he initially believed, data didnt consider it assault at the time, data has a really good support network, datas emotional development, forced silence, nonlinear storytelling, secrets and lies, specifically that he has to obey orders from superior officers, starfleet just has a bad track record with treating data with respect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 12:21:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25849471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentStannerShipper/pseuds/AgentStannerShipper
Summary: Prior to serving on the Enterprise, Data didn't believe he was capable of feeling, and he would not have labeled any of his experiences as traumatic. Emotional growth, as it turns out, comes with a price. Fortunately, the people in Data's life are more than willing to help him through it.
Relationships: Data/Tasha Yar, past data/other(s)
Series: Star Trek Bingo 2020 [22]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1875274
Comments: 7
Kudos: 65
Collections: Star Trek Bingo Summer 2020





	if I can never love

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the bingo prompt "secrets or lies." It's...definitely one of my heavier ones, so read with caution and let me know if I missed a tag. This fic came about because of the episode Clues, and Data's role in it. While I suspect part of it was keeping his crew safe, the knowledge that he couldn't speak, even facing a court martial and likely deactivation, was deeply disturbing to me. Combined with the way strangers on the show like to touch Data without permission, and the way some characters (like Bruce Maddox) seem to regard him, I felt the best way to work that discomfort out of my system was this fic, giving Data room to come to terms with a trauma and finding a way to heal from it. I'm not sure I did the best job with it, but I hope it does the topic justice.
> 
> Title is from "Hard Feelings," by Poppy.
> 
> _Am I a man or machine?_  
>  If I can never love, why do I have hard feelings?

It was a common misconception that Data was completely incapable of lying, much as it was commonly misconstrued that Vulcans as a race were incapable of the act. Vulcans lied when it was logical to do so, when they believed it justified obscuring the truth. And Data…

Data’s morality program was complex. It discouraged lying to a point that made it almost uncomfortable to do so – a state Data considered to be equivalent with a ‘guilty conscience’ – but it did not strictly prevent him from doing it. Data had studied ‘white lies’ as part of his study of humanity. He understood that small untruths could be vital for amiable human cohabitation, to protect bruisable egos or increase pleasure at a surprise. He avoided them on the whole, but that did not mean he didn’t understand them.

Larger lies were different. Data didn’t like telling them, wasn’t comfortable with the concept. They had their uses, he supposed, but it did not sit well with him, and that was why he encouraged the notion that he was not capable of that function. He did not lie if he could avoid it, which meant that Data told lies for only a handful of very specific reasons. He lied if it was for the benefit of humans on the whole, or if lying was a reasonable form of self-defense, much as his programming prevented violence except where it was used for protection. And he lied when he was under orders from a superior officer, for the sake of a mission or otherwise, because that was the responsibility of a Starfleet officer.

After the polywater incident, Tasha had only broached the subject with Data once, blurting out in an otherwise empty turbolift to ask, almost nervously, if that had been his first time. When he had said yes, he had lied. And he had done it for all three of the reasons above.

***

As an ensign, Data would not have said he was excited to receive his first posting aboard a starship. At that stage in his development, Data did not speak in such emotional terms, and would not for several years. But he did experience a form of…anticipation at the change. Being a Starfleet representative had given him an interesting perspective into human behavior, but it had not challenged him intellectually. The Federation starship _Asphodel_ , a Miranda-class science vessel with a modest compliment of thirty officers and a specialized mission for studying alien lifeforms, was the perfect opportunity for Data to put his honors in exobiology to use, to contribute to Starfleet and the Federation in a way that was both meaningful and worthy of his advanced abilities. By the time he set foot on board, Data had memorized all available schematics, a complete list of the crew compliment, including their various accomplishments in their relative fields, and all major projects both completed and underway. No, he was not excited. But he wanted to be prepared for this opportunity.

It did not occur to him as strange when the Chief Science Officer, Commander Gabriel Read, shook his hand in greeting and then lingered, his other hand covering their joined ones, closing over Data’s wrist. His eyes never left Data’s face, his lips quirking into half a smile as he studied Data with an almost detached, intellectual curiosity. It did not occur to him as strange because Data had been touched like this before; people had a tendency to grab him, to linger, to watch him like a scientific experiment because, quite frankly, he knew that was what he was. Most people had never seen an android before, and none with his sophistication. Curiosity was natural. Data could not say he welcomed it, but it was par for the course.

He gave Commander Read what he hoped was an appropriate, human smile. “I look forward to serving under you, Commander.”

Read’s smile had widened, and his grip had tightened ever so slightly. “So do I, Ensign. So do I.”

***

“I’m sorry,” Picard told him after the case was over. They were in a corner of the holodeck, tucked away for a moment as the celebration went on around them, the bridge crew apparently ecstatic that Data would not be forced to leave, to undergo the experiment that Maddox had planned for him, potentially robbing him of everything that made Data the individual that he was. Data cocked his head at the apology, and the captain clarified, “I know it couldn’t have been easy for you to admit that about Tasha. If I hadn’t thought it a significant point in your favor-“

“I appreciate the apology, Captain,” Data interrupted him. “But I am not the one who should receive it.”

They both glanced across the room, to where Tasha was laughing at something Geordi had said. She was beautiful when she smiled, Data thought. Admittedly, Data thought everyone was beautiful, in their own way, but Tasha he admired in particular. He could not truly say why. The new doctor, Pulaski, had called Data cold on the first day they served together, and had since made many dismissive comments about his mechanical nature that…unsettled Data in ways he hadn’t expected. It was nothing he hadn’t heard before. And yet, for some reason, it did bother him. And she knew. And she laughed at him for it.

Perhaps he was not the one who was cold.

Picard’s voice brought him back to the present. “It was during the _Tsiolkovsky_ mission, wasn’t it?” his captain murmured. “I can’t imagine that was easy for either of you.”

“With all due respect, sir, Tasha has asked me not to speak of it.”

Picard raised his hands. “Of course, of course.” He hesitated. “You know, Data…sexuality is not the end-all-be-all of humanity. Having such a limited experience with it-“

For the second time, Data interrupted his captain. “I would rather not discuss it.”

“Alright.” Picard gave a short nod. He clasped his hands together, a gesture of nervousness that Data had begun to recognize. “I’ll just…” He never finished the sentence, but Data did not comment, and Picard took that as permission to leave his side, hurrying back into the throng of his bridge crew.

Data remained where he was, considering. There was something not quite identifiable in the place where his stomach should have been. A heavy sort of sensation, like a physical weight. A brief self-diagnostic said nothing was there, and a cross-reference with his internal database indicated that it bore a resemblance to the physical way that human beings experienced guilt. He felt guilt.

The reasoning was sound: even if sexuality was a trait of humanity (and as Data understood this, it was a flawed perspective at best), there had been no reason to reveal an event which Tasha had asked him never to speak of again. In spite of the lies he had told, Tasha was not his only experience with human sexuality. It was true that he had never connected with a sexual partner the way he felt he had with her, but that was irrelevant. He could have cited another source. He could have avoided betraying her trust.

When he apologized, later that evening, Tasha had given him a look he could not identify. “It’s alright,” she murmured. “It was better than the alternative, right?”

Data supposed that his freedom for a small admission of truth was a reasonable alternative. But it did not alleviate the guilt.

***

Lieutenant Commander Sadie Devereaux of the _USS Tripoli_ was a competent officer, as far as Data could determine. Considering he had been activated for a total of twelve hours, fourteen minutes, and twenty-two seconds thus far, he admittedly had little to base this assessment on beyond the assorted memories stored in his memory banks – memories that he had determined not to be his, but a variety of logs and information from the now-vanished colonists of the deserted planet Omicron Theta, where he had been awoken – and his limited observations of Starfleet personnel. She was a woman approaching middling age, perhaps in her late forties, early fifties, with a sharp updo and the clinical voice of a scientist. She was the closest thing to a cyberneticist on board, by Data’s understanding, and the task had fallen to her to do the initial summary of Data’s abilities.

They had already done several preliminary tests. Under the limited circumstances, they could not determine the full breadth of Data’s ability, but it was already clear that his strength, reflexes, speed, and sensory processing vastly exceeded the average humanoid. The various proofs, documented dutifully on the PADD in Lieutenant Commander Devereaux’s hand, were scattered across the lab bench between them, supposedly indestructible metal indented with Data’s fingerprints littering the surface as he recited the answers to complex equations as fast as the computer could process them.

He sat perched on a lab stool, watching Devereaux with interest. She had many peculiar little quirks, like a habit of tapping her stylus against her lower lip between recording answers, or the way she cocked her head at particularly unusual responses. Data had observed similar tics among other crew members. The _Tripoli’s_ captain was prone to drumming his fingers on the desk. The head of the away team who had found him tended to chew on her lower lip. The actions served no clear purpose, and yet their presence seemed almost universal. Curious.

“In addition to my heightened senses and abilities, I appear to have been designed to mimic not just human appearance, but a broad variety of human functions as well,” he informed her when the math questions abated. “According to my databanks, whoever created me intended for me to be as…fully functional…as possible.”

Devereaux’s stylus paused above the PADD she’d been scribbling on and hung there. She lifted her head, cocking it again as she raised her eyebrows. “How would you define ‘fully functional,’ Data?”

“My default state appears to include unnecessary idiosyncrasies. My respiratory system is non-essential, and yet I simulate breathing automatically. The same is true of blinking.” Data turned his hand over on the table, placing two fingers curiously at his wrist. “I have a pulse.” He accessed his databanks again. “I believe I am capable of consuming and digesting nutrients, and entering periods of dormancy akin to sleep. And I appear to have an…extensive portion of programming dedicated to the pursuit and performance of sexual functions.”

Devereaux blinked, her eyebrows lifting even higher. “Fully functional indeed.” She bent her head to the PADD again, scribbling on it. “I’d be interested to see how those programs function. For example, do you dream when you sleep?”

“I do not know. I do not think so.”

“Your other senses are highly advanced. Can you taste?”

Data folded his tongue over, as if testing it for himself. The action pleased him, somehow. It was irrational, after all: a person could not really taste their own tongue. “I am not certain.”

“What about sex? The mechanics seem easy enough. Your circulatory system could provide fluid for an erection. Do you ejaculate?”

Data scanned his system for an answer. “I am capable of that function. I am also capable of achieving a state resembling orgasm without ejaculating, with or without additional stimuli.”

Devereaux cocked her head again. She hesitated. “Data…you are under no obligation to oblige me this query, but would you mind if I tested this function?”

Data mirrored her gesture. It felt satisfying, almost natural. “Why would I mind?” She had tested his other functions. Sexuality was just another portion of his programming.

The scientist nodded. She stood, circling the lab bench to get a better look at him, arms folded, tapping her stylus against her lip as she watched. “I would like to see you activate the programming without stimulus. Please lower your pants.”

Data did as she asked, activating his sexuality programming with little difficultly. It seemed his modesty programming was overridden in these circumstances, he noted with interest as his erection swelled. Devereaux made a note, and Data followed her commands.

It was, all in all, the least thorough of her tests, including her exploration of his respiratory and circulatory functions, taste buds, and capacity for sleep. She instructed him to climax several times, with and without ejaculating, without stimulus and from his own hand, and once under the clinical, even pressure of her own. Data had cocked his head, curious, at the difference in satisfaction levels derived – external stimulation, from another participant, was more pleasurable than performing the function himself. The experiment was added as a footnote to Data’s file, and although Data expected a follow-up upon being delivered to a team of Starfleet scientists for a proper evaluation, that particular function was not tested again.

At the time, it had seemed routine. Logical. It wouldn’t be until nearly a decade later – seven years, four months, and approximately eight days – at the very beginning of his second starship assignment, that Data would reflect on that moment with anything more than clinical recollection. When his second true commanding officer had questioned how thoroughly Data’s functions had been tested, skeptical of the freshly promoted, junior-grade lieutenant android who had been assigned to work with him, Data had felt an odd flash of…something…slip through his processing circuits. He had thought about Lieutenant Commander Sadie Devereaux and Commander Gabriel Read, and he had not been entirely certain why.

It was not a lie to answer ‘very’ to that particular captain. But the weight that had settled in the area that should have been the location of Data’s stomach at the words was heavy. It was not the feeling he would later identify as guilt. It was similar, but not the same. But at the time, Data had identified it only as a glitch in his programming, and had put the matter from his mind.

***

Being invited to senior staff bonding activities was a relatively new phenomenon for Data. Prior to the _Enterprise_ , no one had bothered, even when he had served as a senior officer. Data had grown to derive satisfaction from the experiences, looking forward to poker nights in particular not just for the valuable insight into human interaction they provided, but for the simple pleasure of spending time with those he was beginning to identify as friends.

That being said, some bonding activities made more sense to him than others, and he studied his glass of synthohol with a frown as he sat cross-legged on the floor in the sitting room area of Commander Riker’s quarters, much of the other senior staff arranged with him around the coffee table. They each had their own glass, and many were reclined on throw pillows that Riker had dragged down off the sofa, or possibly replicated for this purpose. He had seen Tasha covertly exchange her own glass of synthohol for something else, and she clutched that between her hands as if she were concerned about the other parties noticing. Based on Commander Riker’s explanation of the rules, the apparent goal was intoxication, so the choice of synthohol was illogical. At his voiced concerns, Counselor Deanna Troi had smiled.

“While it’s true that, especially younger people, often play with intoxication in mind, that isn’t really the goal of the game,” she explained. “The idea is to get to know one another, to compare like experiences and to bond with each other.”

“Then the beverage is merely a prop.”

“Now you’re getting it.” Riker slapped his back lightly as he sat down, a gesture Data had learned denoted affection in these instances. “Who wants to go first?” he asked.

“I’ll go.” Doctor Crusher sat back, stretching her long legs out in front of her. A smile played at her lips, more mischievous than her usual countenance suggested. She lingered over the thought, drawing it out as if it had not been entirely complete, despite her volunteering. “Never have I ever…visited Q’ono’S.” She made eye contact directly with Worf, still grinning, and Data watched him grumble good-naturedly, taking a drink from his cup.

Deanna did too, and Data cocked his head. At the unspoken question, she explained, “I went with my mother, once. Some official state visit. You know how she is.”

Riker grinned. “I’ll bet the Klingons didn’t know what hit them.”

Deanna laughed. “No, they did not.” She swirled her drink, glancing to Beverly. “My turn? Hmm. Never have I ever…” She cast about the room, her eyes landing on Will. Her smile got decidedly more devious. “Never have I ever picked a fight with my captain over the appropriate protocols of an away mission.”

Data blinked. “That seems extremely specific.”

“And rude.” But Will was still grinning as he took a drink. Data saw Tasha deliberate for a second, and then take a sip too. She shrugged when she caught him looking, a wry smile crossing her lips. Data wondered what particular event she was thinking about. He could not recall a similar situation aboard the _Enterprise_.

To Deanna’s left, Geordi didn’t even hesitate. “Never have I even taken shore leave on Risa.”

Half the circle drank, and Doctor Crusher actually laughed out loud. Tasha’s cheeks turned pink, and she stared into her cup. Data had never taken a shore leave that wasn’t a conference or symposium of some kind – hadn’t even been encouraged to do that much before Picard had become his captain – and a quick mental search for Risa clarified things for him: the Risian culture was pleasure based in the extreme, and tourists frequently came for a variety of hedonistic experiences.

Worf looked less impressed, although Data was finding that a frequent state for the Klingon lieutenant. He hadn’t been one of the ones who drank at Risa. “Never have I ever dishonorably felled an opponent-“

“No, no, no!” Will cut in, shaking his head and laughing. “Worf, they’re supposed to be _fun_ questions. Things like, never have I ever gone skinny dipping, or never have I ever eaten a Denobulan lemur, or-”

“It’s not your turn,” Deanna scolded playfully.

Data glanced at Doctor Crusher, pitching his voice lower as he questioned, “Are we supposed to drink for those?”

She shrugged, laughing. “I can definitely say I’m drinking for one of them.”

“Which one?”

“Skinny dipping.” Her smile was fond, playful, with just a hint of heat, not directed at him, but distantly. “My husband took me once, just before we were married.”

The memory was clearly a fond one, and Data nodded. He looked at the glass in his hand, still full. Worf cleared his throat, his voice a little more hesitant, a touch put upon as he said, “Never have I ever gone…skinny dipping.”

Doctor Crusher drank, and Deanna, and Commander Riker. Data was a little surprised to see Geordi drink as well. Tasha clutched at her glass, her expression tight, and then followed suit. She didn’t look happy about it, and her voice was soft and sharp as she mumbled through her turn, “Never have I ever kissed a girl sober.”

Data’s lips parted in surprise, a reaction he’d learned recently. He wasn’t the only one – he could see that the counselor looked concerned. But she drank, as did Geordi, Riker, and Worf. He debated for a moment; the only woman he had ever had that form of contact with aside from Tasha was Lieutenant Commander Devereaux. She had not kissed him. Tasha had, but did that count? True, the virus that had influenced them was not truly alcohol, but the effect was the same. In the end, a glance towards her made him stay his hand.

Silence fell, and Data suddenly realized that eyes were on him. It wasn’t his turn, but Riker – whose turn it was – was staring at him intently. Data blinked, and looked around the room. “Have I done something wrong?”

“You really haven’t done any of those things?” Riker asked.

He sounded incredulous, and Data cocked his head. “Should I have?”

“Well,” Riker laughed a little. “You’ve been around, what, twenty-five years?”

“Twenty-six.” Since his activation date, at least. He had no memory of the time before that. He did not add the months, weeks, days, hours, or minutes. He knew them, but he doubted they wanted to hear him recite it.

“And you’ve never kissed a girl?”

Data swallowed hard. It was an involuntary reflex. He did not look at Tasha. How to avoid telling a lie? “Lieutenant Yar’s statement was not applicable to me, no.”

“Hmm.” Riker’s eyes narrowed, not cruelly, but clearly thinking hard. “What have you done, then, Mr. Data?” Then, gradually, a grin spread back across his face. “I’ve got one. Never have I ever called myself ‘superior to humans.’”

“Oh, come on,” Deanna protested, but it was half-hearted. She seemed amused. “That’s not fair.”

“It is applicable,” Data pointed out. He took a drink. As always, it tasted of everything it was comprised of, and therefore tasted of nothing. Across the circle, Worf did the same with an approving nod, and Geordi deliberated a moment before taking a drink with a wry smile. “I will point out,” Data added after he swallowed, “that the remainder of my statement was that I would be willing to give up my superhuman abilities to truly experience existence as you do.”

It surprised him to see Tasha smile at that. She hid it in her glass, but it was there all the same. She caught his eyes, and her widened, looking swiftly to the floor. Unexpectedly, Data felt the urge to look away as well. He let his gaze fall to the carpet, unsure where the need had come from.

“That was mean,” Doctor Crusher chastised. She nudged Data lightly. “It’s your turn. Feel free to get him back.”

“That would not be particularly sporting of me,” Data said. He considered for a moment. He was not the best person to determine ‘fun,’ but he was certain he could come up with something close enough to satisfy the others. “Perhaps…never have I ever experienced the sensation of dreaming.”

Everyone else drank. The counselor’s expression wasn’t quite pitying, but Data could identify some of those traits in her expression. Doctor Crusher cleared her throat. “Well, I’m not inclined to be quite so sporting.” Her gaze flicked between Will and Deanna, and Data understood her smile a moment before the words left her lips. “Never have I ever had sex with a senior officer.”

Deanna’s eyes widened, shooting Beverly a look of mock-betrayal as she took a long drink. Riker made direct eye-contact, and Doctor Crusher’s eyebrows shot halfway up her forehead as he drank too. Neither Geordi nor Worf looked particularly surprised, but Tasha…

She didn’t even look at Data, staring into her glass before gulping half of it down in one go, slamming it back down on the table in front of her. He blinked; her reaction seemed severe to refer strictly to him. He had believed they were past the incident. Perhaps he was mistaken.

He looked into his own glass, a strange twisting sensation lighting in his stomach. Would it be a lie not to drink? A lie by omission was still a lie.

By the time he had made his decision – to lie, his glass set firmly on the floor in front of him – the game had already moved on. Data didn’t drink much that night, and even though part of him wanted to look at Tasha, he found his eyes continually returning to the floor.

***

“Excellent work as always, Ensign,” Commander Read praised. One of his hands landed on Data’s shoulders, a gesture he had been using with increasing frequency over the two months they had worked together. Read was a competent commanding officer: fair, team-oriented, and less inclined than most of Data’s professors had been to discount Data’s work simply because his positronic brain could compose and test a theory at a much faster rate than any of the humans around him. It was...satisfying, working on the _Asphodel._ It enabled them to do much more in-depth studies of alien life-forms, examining their biology and culture in ways that even Data’s advanced classes had not encompassed.

“As always, I endeavor to perform to my highest standards,” he told the commander.

“And your standards certainly are high.” There was a quirk to Read’s lips, Data noted as he glanced over his shoulder at the Chief Science Officer. He was making a joke, then? Or perhaps still simply pleased with Data’s work. His fingers massaged gently into the artificial muscles of Data’s shoulders. “I wonder, sometimes, why we aren’t studying you.”

“Our focus is anthropology and exobiology, not cybernetics,” Data pointed out. “At any rate, Starfleet made a thorough study of me when I was first activated.”

“You don’t say?”

Data frowned. “I just did.”

Read laughed, and Data’s frown deepened. He had not meant to say something funny. The commander’s hand stopped moving, but it did not release from its perch on Data’s shoulder. “Exactly how thorough was their study?” he asked. There was a note to his voice that Data did not understand. He had pitched it a little lower, still curious, but now…almost breathy. Data cocked his head.

“It was very thorough,” he said, turning to face the commander. It pulled him from Read’s grip, although the tradeoff was bringing them extremely close together, Data looking up at the commander from where he was sitting. “All of my major functions, as well as the majority of my minor ones, were tested in order to determine the extent of my abilities.”

“I read about that in your file,” Read told him, nodding in approval. “You’re a very interesting man, Data.”

“Thank you, sir.” He was fairly certain that had been a compliment.

His response seemed appropriate, because the commander smiled. “I saw an interesting footnote. You perform sexually?”

“I am programmed with a broad variety of sexual techniques,” Data confirmed. Something twinged in him, and he considered momentarily. Should he be embarrassed? Humans often were by sexual conversations, but Data saw no reason to be. They were discussing his programming as scientists. He admitted, “They are largely untested, but Starfleet confirmed the basic functionality.”

“Starfleet?”

“Lieutenant Commander Sadie Devereaux performed the experiment,” he clarified.

Read whistled. “Sadie’s a lucky woman, isn’t she?”

“I beg your pardon, sir?”

“That’s quite a miracle of science she was able to test, there. I’m sure plenty of us would give quite a bit to…test your functions.”

Data consulted his databases. Commander Read had no particular interest in robotics, cybernetics, or engineering that he could find. There was nothing in their conversations, or in his available history, that would indicate it. It was clear the commander was waiting for a response, but Data was at a loss to give him one.

Finally, the commander gave Data’s shoulder another squeeze and stepped back. “Well. Good work.”

“You said that already, sir.”

“So I did.” The commander’s smile quirked again. “I look forward to seeing a continued excellent performance in the future.”

“I intend to continue to do so, sir.”

“I’m sure you do, ensign.” He gave a short nod to a passing lieutenant as she stepped into the lab, and then turned on his heels, striding out the door. Data turned back to his workstation, momentarily puzzled before he dismissed the conversation. He had additional experiments to complete. He could parse out the meaning of the commander’s words and touches when he was done.

***

Tasha gasped against his lips, a surprised little _ohhh_ as she shifted on top of him, their kiss suddenly broken as she sucked in a breath. Data stilled, one hand still on her cheek, the other on her waist. “Tasha?”

She was straddling him, her body a warm weight on top of his, her thighs on either side of his hips and her hands still tangled in his hair where she’d been gripping it, diving hungrily into their kisses. Data liked kissing, he’d determined. He and Tasha had done a great deal of it over the few weeks they had been attempting a relationship. It had never been this passionate before, never so heated and certainly not horizontal, but Data had found it similarly satisfying, perhaps even more so.

Her forehead pressed into his, and he watched as she shifted experimentally again. Her voice was almost inaudible when she whispered, “You’re hard.”

The program had activated unintentionally, in response to the stimulus, and apprehension washed over Data. Tasha had told him about her concerns when they’d started this. Even before, just as friends, she’d admitted to pieces of her history, her issues with sex and the need to take it slow. “I am sorry,” he apologized. “I will deactivate it.”

“Wait.”

He paused, and watched her bite her lip, thinking. Her cheeks were flushed. Above him, she was gorgeous, even more so than usual, and Data waited for her response. She rocked her hips down against him, and sucked in another breath as it rubbed him against her. “I’m okay,” she said. “This is okay.”

“You are certain?”

“Just keep your hands to yourself,” she teased. When he instantly removed his touch, she laughed, half-sitting upright to grab for his hands, holding them between their bodies. It put more weight on his erection, and Data shunted the information to a sub-system, unwilling to be distracted by the physical sensation when Tasha was placing this trust in him. She kissed his knuckles. “We’re both new at this, right?” she said. “We just have to…work it out.”

It was an incorrect statement on many levels. On her part, Tasha was referring to her lack of experience with healthy relationships, sexuality on her own terms. On his part, she meant his lack of experience altogether. This was based on a fallacy. One he had never corrected.

He did not correct it now. Instead, he said, “I believe our odds for success are reasonably high.”

It made her grin, which was the desired effect. “Yeah?” she teased. “Based on what data?”

“Based on the fact that you are still here.” Predominantly. There were a number of other factors involved.

Tasha’s smile softened. She guided Data’s hands to her hips, letting his fingers curl slightly against the fabric of her uniform. “I’m not going anywhere,” she promised. She tucked a lock of his hair back behind his ear again. “Now, I don’t know about you, but I think I’d like to go back to kissing now.”

“I would like that too.”

“Perfect.” She captured his lips again, and Data closed his eyes. It had been just under two decades since he had experienced a sexual touch – not including the incident a little over a year and a half ago. He allowed the sub-routine to open just slightly, allowing himself to experience some of the pleasure of her weight against him, the way the little rocks of her hips ground his erection against her. It was different this time. Satisfying.

He could not be certain what the difference was. There were a number of variables to consider. But Data could not help thinking, perhaps, that the only significant difference, the only one that mattered, was that he understood this act for what it was. This was an act of mutual affection.

Tasha had been so open with him about what this meant to her. About what it had been like before. For a moment, Data considered telling her the truth. Her honesty deserved a return, and she, perhaps better than anyone, would understand.

But he couldn’t. There were a number of reasons to keep the lie, keep the secret. Data opened his mouth to Tasha’s kisses, delighting when her tongue tangled with his, a unique combination of compounds and elements that tasted distinctly Tasha, and he said nothing.

***

At the Academy, Data had struggled to interact with his classmates in a meaningful way. In many senses, he was both older and younger than them, having been activated for only a few short years, but also possessing detailed knowledge and sophisticated processing skills that put him intellectually ahead of the curve. It was not a stellar combination, and it resulted in no meaningful relationships outside of the classroom, as well as Data falling victim to several practical jokes. He had not found the instances funny, although he had laughed when prompted. There were records under his files on humor of the long history of jokes involving stealing other’s clothes, placing notes on their back, and rigging showers with substances besides water, among the other practices he experienced, and his classmates did seem to find joy in Data’s struggles with the unexpected behavior (when his clothes had been taken during an incident in the gym locker room, for example, Data’s modesty program had not permitted him to leave the building for forty-eight hours until a suitable replacement had been obtained, a fact which apparently shocked and delighted many of the other students), but Data could not reconcile that knowledge with any sense of true humor. He had chalked it up to a failing on his part, and permitted the acts to continue.

These acts did not occur aboard the _Asphodel._ There was a minor incident approximately three months into their mission, where a young woman, apparently spurred on by her giggling friends, had attempted to ask Data to her bedroom, her voice a parody of the tone Data’s processing systems labeled ‘seductive.’ He had frowned, but before he could respond to the unexpected query, Commander Read had ordered her off, his voice sharp. It had softened, warming when he turned it on Data. “Apologies for that, Ensign. It seems you’re still something of a curiosity around here.”

“Then I was correct in believing that her attempt was to interact with my sexual functions?”

Read laughed. “I’m sure she wanted to study them up close and personal. There isn’t exactly much information about it in all those fancy papers they keep publishing about you.” He squeezed Data’s shoulder, his hand sliding down his arm and holding on his bicep. “It’s strange, what with the efforts they went through to document everything else about you, that they’d overlook that part.”

“I do not know,” Data told him. He had admittedly spent very little time considering it. Starfleet was aware of his extensive functionality in that regard, and humans – even many of the scientists – still maintained certain culture hang-ups regarding sex. It was likely that they simply had not been willing to perform further experiments, given the interpersonal nature of the acts.

Read shook his head. “It’s a damn shame.”

“It is?”

“Absolutely. You’re a marvel, Ensign. Think of the implications!”

Data blinked. “Implications, sir?”

Read smiled, his teeth flashing. “Just think about what they could do if there were more of you, huh? There are so many ways you’re already dedicated to serving humanity, but this…Data, you could bring a whole new meaning to the phrase ‘safe sex.’”

Data accessed the concept, and gave a slight nod of acknowledgement. “There are considerable benefits to an android partner.” It was a practical assessment. Data could neither contract nor spread sexual diseases. He was incapable of impregnating a partner. It was impossible for him to engage sexually with a lack of clear consent from his partner, and his inability to seriously harm humans made him fairly ideal for sexual experimentation.

“It’s a shame,” Read repeated. He shook his head again, expression sobering. “Starfleet barely tested you at all. Sure, they know you can get it up. You can even come. But they didn’t even glance at how good you could make someone else feel. I mean, the act itself…”

There was something in the back of Data’s mind that pinged at the words, combined with the way the commander was still touching him. Was it discomfort? Data did not get uncomfortable. As an android, he was not capable of that function. Commander Read’s words were casual, but there was something implied in them.

“Sir…” Data hesitated. His struggles with human nuance were still pronounced. “I apologize if I misunderstood your statement. Are you suggesting that someone should continue to test my sexuality programming? To make a broader study of it?”

Read’s face lit up. “That’s _exactly_ what I’m suggesting,” he said. “Hell, we’re scientists. I’m sure we could figure it out.”

“An experiment does bear merit,” Data agreed. “Perhaps you should submit a proposal to Starfleet Headquarters, with the captain’s permission.”

There was an edge to Commander Read’s smile. It did not register at that moment, but when Data reflected on the memory, he could see it sharp and clear. “I think I’ll do that, Ensign. Thank you.”

***

Data had assumed it was common knowledge that his commander’s word was law. It was…complicated, to say the least, but Data’s programming had latched on hard to the hierarchy of Starfleet Command. The scientists who had initially worked with him encouraged this. Questioning was good, they had told him. It could be useful. But when a senior officer gave you an order, at the end of the day, that was what you had to do.

When he had been a cadet and an ensign, this had made things difficult for Data. His systems had eventually developed a process of elimination: higher rank overruled lesser orders. As he had progressed up the ranks, things had become easier, and when he’d met Captain Picard…Data had never been encouraged to so much as bend the rules before. It had initially been uncomfortable to question, to ‘push the envelope’ as Picard explained it, but his systems had settled into a new sub-routine eventually. The words of admirals or his captain was still law, but Data felt it acceptable to bend rules on occasion, and he had far fewer issues coming to Commander Riker with problems than he had anticipated. It was, in many ways, a relief.

He supposed that was why Picard looked so surprised when Data reminded him, for a mission involving the utmost secrecy, that Data could not disobey a direct order from his captain. “If you order me never to reveal the contents of this mission with anyone,” he informed the captain, “I cannot be compelled to do so.”

Picard stared at him. “Really? I had no idea.”

Data hesitated. “It is possible that an admiral, or someone of higher rank, could potentially order the information out of me, unless specific instructions were left to prevent it.”

“Then we’ll make use of those specific instructions.” Picard nodded, looking satisfied, although there was a touch of a frown in his expression. Data felt the compulsion to look away, but that would have been out of character, so he quelled the response. He had enough experience with his own programming to know that, at least thus far, those orders could not be overridden. If a superior officer ordered him to never reveal information, not even to a higher-ranking officer, Data would be compelled to do it. So far, he had not found it in himself to be able to break that sub-routine.

Picard called out to him when Data rose to leave, and Data paused to listen to him. “Mr. Data…” Picard sounded uncertain. His words were chosen carefully. “This…vow of silence, this compellation to follow commands. Is it a requirement, or something you feel you must do?”

Data blinked. He considered. “I…am not certain. I must do it. That is all.” If he pushed, could he break through? Perhaps. But what would that mean if he did? It was safer, wasn’t it, that Starfleet’s sole android was incorruptible. It was simply another way that he could serve.

Picard’s lips pursed. He seemed to be thinking rather deeply. “And…if I asked you, if other commanding officers had made similar requests of you…”

“None on the _Enterprise_ ,” Data said truthfully.

Picard’s expression smoothed out. He relaxed, which was the intended effect of Data’s statement. “Very good, Mr. Data.”

Data nodded, and left the room. No, Picard’s _Enterprise_ was a ship unlike the others he had served on for more than a mission or two. The _Trieste_ had been pleasant, if distant. The _Perseverance_ had been acceptable, if a little hostile at times. And the _Asphodel_ …

Data had still been developing when he served aboard the _Asphodel_. He had been a good ensign, he thought. A little naïve, but he had worked hard, and his work had been good. It was unfortunate he had been less developed socially, had not understood the significance of the acts that had occurred on board. He had no one to blame but himself.

He kept his silence about the _Asphodel_ , and where necessary, he lied. He had assumed that with time, it would get easier. He had been incorrect.

***

When Commander Read told him the project had been approved, it didn’t occur to Data to ask to see the orders. Their sessions took place in Read’s quarters – a traditional environment, Read told him – and Data brought PADDs to record their findings. Read told him the study was focused on the ways Data was programmed to bring pleasure to his partner, with the intent to see if there were applications for sexual therapy or other similar functions. Commander Read had been approved to oversee the process.

Data asked one question: how did they determine that Commander Read could be an impartial candidate? Read told him that Starfleet Command approved it based on his psychological profile. He was a scientist. He understood clinical detachment. Data accepted the answer at face value. After all, Commander Read was his section chief. He was also second in command of the ship. Data surmised that such a highly ranked officer was a logical choice.

Partway into their first session, after Data had determined the best hand motions to make his commander hard, the precise fluttering of fingers that made his erection jerk in Data’s grip, the flesh warmer and more alive than Data had anticipated, Command Read instructed him not to speak of the project to anyone. “People wouldn’t understand,” he explained, his voice broken through with sounds of pleasure as Data twisted his wrist on the downstroke. “They might believe I’m taking advantage of you. If we’re successful, Starfleet will approve experiments with a broader subject base. Just don’t say anything, not even to the captain, okay? That’s an order.”

Data had nodded in understanding, and allowed Commander Read to push him to his knees.

***

There were little moments that made Data believe he wasn’t unfeeling. His devotion to his career and his crew. The friendships he had made. The way his chest felt funny when Tasha smiled at him, the two of them curled up in her bed together, sated from climax. Data liked giving Tasha pleasure. He liked letting her take it from him. It was indescribable, watching her blossom from someone so hesitant about her body, her desires, to someone willing to take the lead.

It was proof that there had been some truth to the statement about his sexuality programming functioning therapeutically, but that was not why Data enjoyed sex with Tasha. The intimacy they shared went beyond the physical. Data had reflected on it at length. Tasha wasn’t using him for the therapeutic value. As far as he could determine, she wasn’t using him for anything. Tasha was with him because she enjoyed his company. And he enjoyed hers.

“It’s kind of like you’re my first, too,” she joked once. She was spooning him, her fingers tracing circles on his chest. “I never knew sex could be like this before.”

“Nor did I,” Data told her, and that was the truth. The rest of it, the lie, sat at the back of his tongue. Data could not taste ‘bitter,’ but he had a suspicion it must be similar to this.

***

Commander Read had transferred from the _Asphodel_ shortly before Data had been promoted to lieutenant and transferred himself. It had been nearly three years, and the project had run consistently through that time, with increasingly irrefutable orders that no one at all, particularly at Starfleet, was to ever find out. Many of the experiments appeared repetitive to Data, and after a point he did not understand how new information could be found from it. But he was unwilling to speak up. Commander Read appeared satisfied with his performance, and said so frequently.

The day he left, Read came to Data’s quarters when Data’s roommates were not home. Data utilized the space infrequently – so infrequently, in fact, that even his bed was very often loaned out to a visiting friend of one of his bunkmates – and it had been something of a surprise to see his commander there.

He’d smiled at Data when Data had congratulated him on his promotion to a starbase. “It won’t be the same without you, but I’m sure I’ll get by.”

Data handed him a PADD. “I have finished compiling our datapoints. The analysis is ready for Starfleet Command’s reviewal.”

Read too the PADD and set it aside, still smiling. “How about one more for the road, hmm?”

“For the road, sir?”

“It’s an expression, Data. It means, one last time before going away.”

Data frowned. “Do you believe our review incomplete?”

Read hesitated, half a smirk quirking his lips. “Yes. Let’s call it that.” He cupped Data’s face, and surprised Data by drawing him in for a kiss. Data supposed that was what he meant; they had never kissed before over the course of their experiments. He returned it, drawing on the commander’s lead and his programming to enhance the experience. “A little dispassionate,” Read murmured when they broke apart. “But not bad for a beginner.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Let me just check your ability to multitask one more time.”

He’d laid Data out on his bunk, still kissing him. By now, Data knew how to pleasure the commander. It was easy to maintain part of his focus on their lips while divesting him of his uniform pants, stroking him to hardness, accepting him into his body. Read grunted with satisfaction, and when he climaxed inside Data, he sighed.

“I will miss this,” he said, standing up and putting himself to rights. “You really are an excellent lay, Data.”

“I…thank you, sir. It is my function.”

“It sure is.” Read grinned. He picked up the PADD again, smacking it against his hip. “I’ll finish up this report and make sure it gets to Starfleet Command. Delete any copies you might have made, and do not, under any circumstances, reveal the existence of this project or any of its experiments to anyone without my express permission. That’s a direct order, Ensign.”

“Yes, sir.”

Starfleet Command had never sent a follow-up report. That had not surprised Data; this particular form of bureaucracy could take quite a long time. He had put the matter from his mind, save for the occasional thought when sexuality or the testing of his functions came up in conversation. He determined it was easiest to say that he had never engaged in sexuality, and to avoid the conversation where possible. It was a lie, but he had been ordered to do so. His programming allowed it.

***

When Tasha first said “I love you,” Data hesitated. She smiled, sweetly. “It’s okay. You don’t have to say it back.”

“You know I care for you,” he told her, and she nodded. That, too, was the truth. Data cared deeply for Tasha. If he was capable of love, he determined, he loved her more than anything, and he told her so.

“I think you feel more deeply than you give yourself credit for,” Tasha told him. She pulled the blanket up, covering herself. “I feel safer with you than…really, anywhere.”

“I am glad you feel that way.”

She tugged on him gently, and Data went willingly. Tasha fit in his arms perfectly. He liked having her there. “You never rushed me, so I’m not going to rush you,” she told him, her cheek against his chest. Data watched her eyelids flutter closed. “You can tell me anything. But I can wait until you’re ready.”

Data opened his mouth, and then closed it. What he wanted to say was, “I feel safe with you too.” Or perhaps, “Your strength inspires me every day.” Or maybe even, “There is something I have to tell you.”

He didn’t say any of those things. He tucked his face against her hair, and closed his eyes as well.

***

When Data had first met Picard, it had been for a short mission, and Data’s captain at the time had joked that Starfleet’s golden boy was taking him out for a test drive. There were rumors that Picard would be given the newest flagship in the fleet when it was completed, and he’d want only the best to staff it. Data had admired Picard, but he had been puzzled when Picard encouraged him to take initiative during the mission. He had never been encouraged like that before.

When the mission was over, Data had searched the computer for even an oblique, classified reference to the report that Commander Read had said he would file. He could take initiative. He could follow up on something that had apparently spent years stuck in the cogs of the system. There had to be some practical use for the information.

The search had proved fruitless. No such project report existed, classified or otherwise. Aside from the assessment of ‘fully functional’ at the top of the page, the sexuality section of Data’s file remained one line long: _subject has extensive sexuality programming, including the capacity for erections, orgasm, and controlled ejaculation._ Devereaux’s name was lumped in with the other scientists who’d worked with him at Starfleet, but Read’s name appeared in his file only obliquely, as a commanding officer.

Something uneasy had twisted into Data’s gut at the knowledge. There was no logical reason to make a report like that so classified you couldn’t even determine it existed at all. Which meant it had not been filed. More so, it likely meant it had never been ordered in the first place.

Data wondered if he ought to tell someone. But what was there to tell? He had agreed to it. The pretenses might have been false, but he had not felt coerced. He had not felt much of anything. He had thought that was the point.

Now, though, he felt something. He felt uncomfortable. He felt…used. But he had been ordered to keep silent. He would have to maintain the lie.

Perhaps, he thought, it would not be relevant. After all, aside from the tests and a few joking proposals, Data had never been approached sexually before. It was unlikely he would be again.

***

“Data!” Counselor Troi smiled at him when her doors opened to admit him. “This is a surprise.”

“Do you have a moment?”

“Of course.”

He stepped inside. The counselor’s office was not a space he visited frequently, even after a few years aboard the _Enterprise_. He knew Tasha went occasionally, but for Data it hadn’t seemed useful. As a counselor, Deanna dealt in feelings. Data couldn’t be certain that he had any.

Deanna gestured towards the sofa, and Data took a seat, lacing his fingers together between his knees. She sat down in a chair opposite him and mirrored the pose. “Alright, what can I do for you?”

Data hesitated. He swallowed. “I…had a question. It is about trauma.”

Deanna’s eyebrows went up. “Oh?”

“I wondered if it was possible to experience it…retroactively.”

“You mean, after the event occurs?”

Data nodded. “Is it possible for an event to…appear innocuous at the time it occurs, but later turn out to be considered traumatic?”

Deanna blinked, shaking her head, but Data determined that the gesture rose out of surprise, rather than contradicting him. She crossed one leg over the other, settling her joined hands on top of her knee. “Well, the short answer is yes. Sometimes, when a traumatic event occurs, we either don’t have the emotional capacity or the emotional maturity to recognize it as traumatic, so our senses sort of…protect us from it. We might react to it, and it may shape our experiences, but we don’t really feel it. Then, when we have the words to explore and explain the emotion, or when we are in a safe enough place emotionally to do so, we may react more strongly, because we did not process it initially.” She hesitated. “Does that answer your question?”

“Yes, counselor. Thank you.”

Data stood, and Deanna jumped to her feet too, holding out a hand. “Wait.” He cocked his head, and she paused. “Data…if I might ask…is this about Tasha?”

It was, but not in the way Data was fairly certain she meant. “It is not about an experience Tasha had shared with me, if that is what you are asking. I am aware of her history, but I am also aware that she has made considerable strides to overcome it.”

“Tasha is a very strong woman,” Deanna acknowledged. She still looked hesitant, like she was waiting for something. “She’s found a great deal more strength in being able to be vulnerable at times.”

“It is one of the qualities I admire about her.”

“So, if your question wasn’t for Tasha…”

Data cocked his head. “It was for me, counselor.” Even that admission grated against his programming; an alarm flashed in the back of his mind, threatening to override his speech protocols if he continued.

But of course, the counselor couldn’t hear that. Her concern deepened. “Do you believe you’ve experienced a traumatic event, Data? I know, even just aboard the _Enterprise_ , we’ve been through a great deal-“

“Is has nothing to do with my service aboard _Enterprise_ ,” Data assured her. “My time here has simply been a…catalyst, based on your explanation. My emotional growth, though limited, appears to be having an impact on the way I remember certain events.” The warning was getting louder, and Data swallowed hard against it. His hands curled into fists at his side.

Deanna edged towards him, like she was attempting to corral him away from the door. “And you think some of these events might have been traumatic, but you didn’t have the emotional capacity to recognize it at the time.”

Data opened his mouth, and then closed it. The words lodged themselves in his chest. They would not come up. Finally, he said, “It was merely a matter of curiosity. Thank you, counselor. I must go now.”

She let him walk out the door. Partway down the hall, Data stopped and stood still for a moment. He could not say his heart was racing. But there was something…heightened…in his perception, something not consistent with his usual resting state. The counselor’s explanation had been useful for understanding, but it could not correct the issue. If Tasha was to be believed, and Data was inclined to believe her in this case, it was almost impossible to overcome a trauma without speaking up about it. It hadn’t been until she had found it in herself to talk to the counselors, to him, that she had really been able to let go of the past and move on.

Data was forbidden from speaking up about it. Even a direct order – from anyone but Read himself – could not unlock that truth. Data had heard that secrets had the capacity to eat away at someone from the inside. He had not quite understood the expression until now.

***

The last time Data had seen Commander Read – now a captain – had been at a science symposium shortly after Data had joined the _Enterprise._ It had come as a surprise; Data had not known the captain was attending until the man in question had come up behind him, clapping a hand to his shoulder. “Data! Long time, no see!”

Data had tensed. “Hello, sir. Congratulations on your promotion.”

“And you!” Read had spun him around. Only reluctantly had Data moved with him, holding still as the man looked him up and down. He whistled. “A lieutenant commander. Never thought I’d see the day.”

“It was a greatly contested decision.”

Read released him, and Data took a step back. The hallway was crowded, but Data made the space. Read clucked his tongue. “You know, I’m not sure I see what everyone’s talking about. You were a lot friendlier back on board the _Asphodel_.”

“On board the _Asphodel,_ I did not posses the same understanding I do now.”

Data knew his voice was cold, and had made it so intentionally. A dark cloud crossed Read’s face, and he stepped towards Data, who had nowhere else to go if he didn’t want to get trampled by the throng. “I’m not sure what you’re trying to imply, _Commander_.”

“I am implying nothing,” Data told him. “You have not given me permission to do so.” The edge to his voice sharpened. Data was almost pleased to say it felt a little like anger.

Read relaxed minutely. He smiled. “There’s nothing to say, is there?”

“Apparently not. It appears Starfleet Command has heard nothing from you, which I suppose means I have nothing to say to them either.”

“Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy it.” Read’s voice dropped even lower. His eyes were hard. They had always looked like that, Data realized. He simply hadn’t noticed. “You were made that way.” Before Data could say anything, he straightened up, his hand landing hard on Data’s shoulder and squeezing tight. “It was good to see you, Commander. What I said still stands.”

He walked away, and Data stared after him. His chest was tight, and a feeling he identified as being, perhaps, something akin to resentment, was bubbling up inside him.

His throat constricted, but it didn’t matter. Even if he could have said something at that moment, he didn’t have the words.

***

“Hey, can we talk?”

Data blinked, standing as Tasha stepped into his quarters, her hands clenched tight and fidgeting as the door closed behind her. Carefully, he said, “Is something wrong?” He’d learned, fairly quickly, that the phrase ‘can we talk’ in human vernacular was typically a preface to unpleasant conversation.

Tasha grimaced. “I…don’t really know?” She slid onto Data’s desk, her preferred perch in his room, and when Data sat down again she set her feet on either side of his lap. “Deanna said you came to talk to her about something? She said it might be better if I talked to you.”

“I see.” He didn’t offer anything further.

“Can I ask what you talked about?”

He didn’t want to lie to her, but he didn’t see how he could tell the truth. “It was a personal matter.”

“Right.” Tasha’s brow was furrowed. She chewed on her lip. “Is it…I mean, was it about me? Did I do something wrong?” Her eyes widened, horrified. “Is this about the love thing? Because I promise, it really doesn’t matter to me if you say it or-“

Data took her hands, squeezed both between his own. “I love you,” he said, and that was honest. It lightened something in him, and it cut her off midsentence. He continued, “I believe I have loved you for a long time, but I wanted to be certain. My…emotional growth has not always progressed in a way that I could understand. It has been difficult for me.” He hesitated, looking down. “My conversation with the counselor was not about you. You are…related to it, but only in that you have been honest with me. You have communicated with me openly over the course of our relationship, even when it has been difficult for you. I have not done the same, and that is not acceptable to me.”

“Oh.” It was clear, that wasn’t what Tasha had expected. She hedged, “So, you want to tell me something?”

The alarm bells were going off again. Data chose his words carefully, to avoid setting them off. “You seem…preoccupied with the concept that you are the only person I have been sexually active with. Is this a fair assessment?”

Her eyes widened. “Um…” She pulled her hands away, setting them in her lap. “I don’t know. It was a nice thought. I mean, before you, I went through a lot of shit. It was kind of nice, knowing that you didn’t have any baggage like that. That there wasn’t anything for me to compare to.” She hesitated, “Is that what this is about? Data, I’ve read your file. I know Starfleet did…I don’t know, something with your sexuality program. That doesn’t have to count.”

Strangely, Data had determined that he bore Sadie Devereaux no ill will. It was perhaps not logical, but she at least had been clinical with her assessment, and had kept it to an apparently professional minimum. If she had not done it, Data suspected someone else in Starfleet Research would have in her stead. “They did test it,” he allowed. “I would not classify it as a sexual experience.” Maybe he should have. Maybe it should have bothered him. It did, in some respects, but no more so than the other ‘proof’ of his functioning bothered him. Starfleet’s early examination of him had treated him as a curiosity, more object than individual. He reflected back on it with some embarrassment, but he suspected the admiralty did as well. That made it, while not acceptable, something he was willing to overlook.

Tasha’s knuckles were white, she was clenching them so hard. “If it’s not about that, then what?”

He chose his words even more carefully. “You…were not my first sexual experience. You are the first partner I would currently classify as consensual, and I do very much enjoy the intimacy we have shared. But it is not…” He struggled now, head ringing.

Tasha looked vaguely horrified. When he didn’t finish the sentence, she said, “So, you lied.”

“I apologize for deceiving you.”

“That’s not…” She shook her head. “Data, baby, that’s not really what I’m worried about. I mean, it is, I’ve never known you to lie like that, but…”

“I am capable of lying under certain conditions. In preservation of myself or others, or when a commanding officer has ordered me to do so.”

He could see her putting the pieces together. Slowly, she said, “So, before me…you’d had what you considered sex, but it wasn’t…it wasn’t what you considered consensual.”

“By most definitions, consent requires a clear understanding of the implications, and occurs without the influence of deception.” It was a workaround, stating facts. And even that much felt physically painful for Data, because he knew the intent.

“Right.” Tasha was pale. Her voice shook. “So, you didn’t really understand at the time. Because you were younger, maybe? Less developed? At the Academy maybe?”

“No one at the Academy considered me a viable sexual partner.” To his knowledge, anyway. It was strange: Data had no respiratory requirements, and yet he found himself almost unable to breathe, his chest closing up, as if his lungs were shutting down. He could not feel ‘dizzy,’ but he thought it might feel something like this.

“When you were first assigned, then. As an ensign.”

“I cannot confirm that.”

Tasha studied him. Her shoulders were tense. There was clear distress in the corners of her mouth. “Which means I’m right. But you can’t just _tell me_ about it. And you felt deceived. So, maybe…maybe someone coerced you into doing something you didn’t want?”

Data looked away. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her shake her head as she corrected herself. “Not didn’t want. Didn’t understand.”

He looked back to her. Her mouth was twisted into a grim line. “And you can lie to protect people, or to protect yourself. Or if someone orders you to do it.”

He nodded. “That is correct.”

“So, if I were to guess that someone, maybe one of your commanding officers, asked you to do sexual things with them, and then told you not to tell anyone…?”

Data’s voice stuck. He stared at the ground. Tasha let out a slow exhale. “Okay,” she said softly. “Alright.”

They were quiet for a very long moment. Then, quietly, Tasha said, “Data…I get following orders. But…have you considered that maybe protecting yourself comes first?”

He looked up at her. “I do not understand.”

She scooted forward a little on the desk. “So…this…you’ve clearly been keeping this inside a long time. And you still can’t even talk about it. And, you know, if you were ordered to, by a senior officer, I could get why. But…it doesn’t protect people, not knowing that someone in Starfleet is willing to take advantage of the people under their command. And it doesn’t protect you. It hurts you.”

“Until recently, I was not certain that I could be hurt in this manner,” Data admitted.

“And now?”

He tilted his head, acknowledging. “The evidence would indicate it is possible.”

She nodded. “This is hurting you, baby. And I…I couldn’t even see it.”

Data blinked. “Tasha,” he said quickly. “Please do not blame yourself.”

“I don’t, I just…” She huffed, clearly frustrated. “Why does this keep happening? This is _Starfleet_. Officers aren’t supposed to…we aren’t…” She shuddered, then took another deep breath. When she looked at him again, her voice was steady. “Your well-being matters, Data. You should be able to talk about this. It’s important.”

“Previously, I considered it a protective measure to keep silent.”

“How?” Tasha looked incredulous. “Baby, how does that help anyone?”

Data hesitated. “Tasha, I did not have the capacity to understand what had happened to me was unacceptable. At the time, I considered myself consenting to it. It is a serious charge, and if I made it, it was unlikely that it would be found correct. But making the charge would impact my Starfleet career. It was not worth coming forward, even if I had felt capable of violating direct orders.” He paused, and then admitted, “Additionally, if I made a charge against a senior officer, it would be detrimental to Starfleet. There was the possibility that people would lose faith in the organization if…if certain accusations came to light. I did not want that to happen. I did not believe anyone else would be impacted.” Data was incapable of feeling tired, but there was a heaviness to him now.

It was Tasha’s turn to take his hands. The contact was nice. It made him feel grounded. “I know I’m not your superior officer. I don’t even know if a superior officer ordering you to talk about it would work. But I am your partner. And I’m telling you, some orders are meant to be disobeyed. We’ve given everything to Starfleet, Data. If something happens under their watch, we deserve to say something about it, don’t we?”

It…made sense, and something in Data unlocked, like a circuit opening up. He took a deep breath. He didn’t need to, but the sensation was pleasant, like the softness of Tasha’s hands in his. “That is logical,” he murmured.

Tasha nodded. The silence settled again, less tense this time. Then she said, “Do you want to talk about it now?”

Data nodded. There was no ‘akin’ about it. This feeling was relief.

***

Captain Gabriel Read was relieved quietly of command on stardate 44791, following a brief hearing. Data had sent in his testimony, and agreed to answer any follow up questions that the admiralty had, but he did not attend. He knew Tasha did, and Counselor Troi, and Captain Picard. He knew that when they came back, Captain Picard looked tired and a little haunted. The counselor, who Data had been speaking to at Tasha’s encouragement, gave him a small smile. And Tasha had held him for a very long time, her head buried against his chest. Data wondered if he should feel more strongly about the resolution. He was pleased, of course. There was a sense of finality to the affair. It did not mean closure – that had been coming on gradually, settling in the more Data found himself able to express what had happened, to come to terms with it aloud. But the finality of the case meant something.

Read was sentenced to time at a rehabilitation colony. Data had been surprised that Starfleet had decided on even that much. Apparently, the trial had determined that no one else had received the treatment Data had at Read’s hands, which meant the only victim was one singular android.

“That’s one person too many,” Tasha had told him when he’d expressed that sentiment to her. And he supposed she had a point.

So it wasn’t a secret any longer. Data no longer had to lie. He wouldn’t have said he was happy before – happy was an emotional term, and one that was only just starting to apply itself to Data’s personal vocabulary – but it was better now. Data didn’t like to lie.

What he liked was knowing that there were people who loved him. Who believed and supported him, and who were willing to defend him no matter what. That was a good feeling. And it was one that Data cherished completely.


End file.
